School in my hometown has already started. I was in earlier this week helping out at the freshman club fair, and I got to see a bunch of my favorite English teachers (including my favorite English teacher) and chat with my old guidance counselor. Roaming the halls and seeing all the new students had me knee-deep in nostalgia. I remember when I didn’t know my way around. I remember when my geometry teacher seemed scary. It’s only been a year since I was a little freshman signing up for clubs, but it feels like decades ago.
Freshman year taught me a lot of things, many of which had nothing to do with the curriculum. I became more competitive with myself but less so with others. I gained confidence. I found mentors who guided me through the emotional mountains of the spring semester. I made new friends. Despite the complications with my Spanish class, or the error in my biology teacher’s grading system, or how I wasn’t allowed to do any schoolwork in gym class when my foot was broken, I’m glad I spent ninth grade at the public school.
Yet 2015-2016 is going on without me. I’m still enjoying my summer. I’m realizing that this is what it’s like to be a private schooler on weird vacations that don’t line up with the rest of the world. It’s really odd. I’ve been in the public schools my entire life, and I used to hate going out in public when I was home sick because I was scared people would judge me for missing school.
I’ve been texting my friends–both sophomores and newbs–about their classes. I’m trying to get a sense of how this year is going to go. But even though E has my favorite teacher for homeroom, and J loves his English teacher, I am so thrilled to be moving forward.